This is Fine
by BoneMarrowBro
Summary: The Warrior of Light returns from a taxing combat at Coerthas to rest in the Carline Canopy, seeking to rest in quiet solitude. A fellow Scion rudely interrupts his plans, but her company is not entirely unwelcome. Set in Pre-Heavensward timeline.


Beneath the noble elder trees, the city of Gridania was shrouded in dark. Dusk had set a few hours hence, and with it came the calm of night owls' hoots and the cicadas chirps. It was known as a city of the Elezen. A city of diligent and respected craftsmen, fleetfooted warriors, and wise conjurers who immerse themselves in the quiet study of the aetherial forces that govern the flow of all life and magic. In that night, a lone Shinobi, having just arrived from a long journey at the Snowy peaks of Central Coerthas (_which lie to the North of Gridania_), sauntered in to the local establishment of the Adventurers Guild, namely the Carline Canopy, to seek rest. The Inn itself was famous for the warmly colored stained-glass windows that lined it's dome-like ceiling. The moonlight at present dappled the inner hall with streaks of comfortable hues that lent themselves to a relaxed atmosphere. The Proprietress, an Elezen woman with a gentle face known as Mother Mionne, gives him a smile and a wave from behind her desk counter next to the stairs that lead to the bottom floor, where the Airship landing was located. The Shinobi returns her wave in kind and makes his way to the Inn clerk known as Antoinaut (with a silent and final 't'). He immediately recognizes the man as Arctos Kuroinu, and claps once to alert the staff to his presence. Arctos takes the opportunity to reserve the bathroom to himself to recuperate in for an hour or so (and to compliment Antoinaut's arguably goofy hat), afterwards he is escorted to his room by aforementioned staff.

Arctos was a regular here in Gridania, preferring the rustic feel of their architecture and the ambiance of the forest to the other nations. So often had he paid a visit, that the third room to the left in the first hall, was practically his by ownership. The Proprietress paid no mind, for their customers were each and every one precious to her, and their particular establishment would be nothing if not accommodating to THE Warrior of Light. Arctos was an adventurer of humble beginnings like any other man or woman, who just happened to get pulled into realm-wide affairs by circumstance and coincidence. The title was first borne by his mysterious predecessors, whose existence is acknowledged and remembered, but their names and faces somehow forgotten across the wide world. The title was bestowed upon him following his involvement and cooperation with a certain group of heroes, that consistently worked and fought to bring an end to the crises that plagued the realm, be they petty, catastrophic, potentially world-ending or otherwise. His was a curious case; wealthy and famous individuals at the Canopy were often expected to come with a particular leaning towards self-indulgence, but never has he been found wanting for the vain luxuries on offer, opting instead to pay extra in order to be left perfectly alone, unless called upon by a member of his order, or in the case of an emergency. Funny thing is, people still managed to somehow make their way into his quarters now and then with requests and pleas for aid. It was understandably difficult to find any time for himself, once tales of his deeds began to spread and embellish themselves. Today he would make true on the principle of self-cared is well-fared, determined as he was to to take the time to enjoy his privacy as a man among others.

His prior business in Central Coerthas had involved combating a powerful entity, a so called 'Primal', that had been summoned through the aether with the use of Crystals that harbored large quantities of aetherial energies within them. Arctos had fought against these Primal fiends before, but the one in Coerthas was an exception to the pre-established norm in one regard. So far, the Primals that he had encountered were summoned as manifestations of the summoners idealized image of a figure of legend that held some profound meaning to them, and thus they were materialized as a willful being of singular purpose. This time, The spirit of the Primal Shiva was somehow being embodied by a person. That Elezen woman then transformed into Shiva, and therefore gained full control of her abilities. The woman herself is known as _Iceheart_, she's the leader of a rebel faction in Coerthas, (and by extension the whole of Ishgard, since Central AND Western Coerthas were nestled within Ishgardian borders) whose purpose is to re-unite mankind with Dragon-kin, and then she was possessed of great power, numerous followers and the zealous mind of a cunning strategist. These rebels were being persecuted with equal zeal, ruthlessly slain, and branded as Heretics in the eyes of the Ishgardian Holy See, the seat of their ruling power.

Having enlisted the aid of his fellow adventurers, together they formed a strategy and went to challenge her in the freezing depths of the Coerthan Mountains. Their mortal frailty was put to a grueling test, but the heroes prevailed in the end. Unfortunately, despite losing the fight, and her form as Shiva, Iceheart managed to flee before she could be accosted. Arctos and his companions were left empty handed, they were tired and wounded, but what hurt them most was their damaged pride. The experience prompted him to go and have a well-deserved rest at Gridania. His companions were understandably frustrated, but Arctos assured them that it was a Victory all the same, he had to tell that to himself too, but what mattered at the time was keeping up his companions spirits. Moments like this were the only time when he unknowingly made an effort to carry the image of a hero, this came at a cost to his mental well-being in no small regard, but it was necessary. What kind of hero would carry their pain for all to see? Whilst bearing that thought on his shoulders, Arctos briskly followed his escort to the room he had grown so comfortable with. His escort leaves him at the door with his key, bows, and returns to attend to the other patrons as soon as they are convinced he doesn't need anything else.

Upon entry, he is heralded by the soothing sound of a fountain that is built into what Arctos could only describe as a 'hole in the wall' (his vocabulary regarding interior design and architecture being sadly limited). Exhaustion prompted him to go and sit on the bed at the far end of the room, his aching body screaming at him all the way while performing the herculean maneuver. Once seated, he began to mindlessly unfasten his armor and strip off the undergarments too while admiring the room once again.

The fountain sat opposite of him, and was laid out as a pool with three bowls on thin pedestals standing in the water, a fourth pillar had been set to stand at their center where the water flowed down through square-carved gaps on the outer rim of the stone. Three curved arches stood at the edges of the rim to hold up a fourth bowl, and in each bowl, a small and neatly trimmed green bush with pink flowers grew in the nourishing light of yellow aether lamps, protruding from round support columns that neatly frame the setup from either side. Suffice to say Arctos often found himself admiring the completeness of it, something about the delicate masonry brought him some solace, as did the rest of the room with its tasteful arrangement of simple furniture. The lengthy green carpet at the center of the floor, with white flower-themed pattern trimmings. The firm but comfy feather bed with its blue sheets, adorned with yet more white trimmings. There was a short desk with drawers and a cute stool sitting in-front of three large windows at the end of the room, they were framed by blue draperies that let the sunlight in throughout the day just right. There was also a large wardrobe that Arctos almost never used, but admired as a work of carpentry, a dresser made of golden oak with a tall mirror attached to the back-end, and many drawers and containers built-in so elaborately that, when fully opened, it made him think of it as a big version of a fisherman's tackle box. Last but not least were the Black Cherry Armoire, or 'Warchest' as he liked to call it, and even an Orchestrion that let you play music if you had the scrolls for it. The entirety of the room was itself built of the darker shades of grayish mahogany flooring and with similar walls and ceiling, but accentuated with curved boards here and there of a darker hue. He remembered his first impression of it from months ago, thinking the place seemed rather gloomy at first, but soon he came to love the minor contrasting elements of it, and came to appreciate his time there all the more as he continued to frequent the place. It was almost enough to make him take up the saw and hammer for himself, almost...

There was a feeling that if he didn't get out of bed soon he would collapse upon it for the night, and perish right there whether he wanted to or not. With his personal effects and clothing now discarded, he forced himself to hobble over to the mirror for an inspection of the damages. His face was the first to greet him, while seemingly unsullied, he could never get used to the paler patches of missing pigment, contrasting against his naturally brown skin on the left side of his face. He'd had it there for a couple years now, but it showed no sign of progression beyond where it stopped about a month back from now. Its worst symptom proved to be the questions people would inevitably ask him about it, if and when he decided to reveal his face that is. Some have speculated (to his endless chagrin) that the condition was caused by either a curse or a blessing, as if t'were a mark of the gods themselves. Others in their puzzlement simply assumed it must've been some rare disease he contracted abroad, that or some effect of prolonged exposure to intense aetherial energy, like an allergic reaction. He had to admit to himself at the very least, that the latter option seemed the most likely. As far as Arctos could tell (or care) it was no more than a minor inconvenience, so he tried to pay no mind to it.

Regarding the rest of his body though... He would come to find nearly every shade of numbing purple imaginable from his top to the bottom. Thankfully, his center remained relatively unscathed. There were hardly any cuts or lacerations, seeing as Shiva's strengths seemed to lay in her ability to debilitate and hinder her opponents rather than brutal murder, although, he imagined it was well within her power to do so. Perhaps it was the intent of the host body Not to kill outright, and there's always the chance that he hadn't even seen the full extent of her power. One would have to assume, if she _really_ wanted to kill them, she would've fought tooth and nail until the bitter end. If he was right, then Iceheart's convictions may not have been as stout as he believed, or perhaps it was precisely because they **were. **Arctos understood that Shiva (the historic figure, not the Primal manifestation or Iceheart herself) was some kind of Saint who pioneered the very notion of uniting mankind under the same banner with Dragon-kin long ago. He figured that this implied towards a tendency at pacifism, If so, it was impossible to verify without delving deeper into the mind of the Host. Rampant speculation would have to wait however; the stinging pain and numbness must needs be treated.

Arctos fetched a navy blue bathrobe from the underutilized wardrobe at the corner of his room, puts it on while relishing in the comfort it provided, and leaves with two towels in hand (Smaller one for his hair, and a longer one for his nether regions). He walks with some difficulty past the Saunas to arrive at the bathroom he reserved earlier. Once inside, he found the floors to be of dark marble, and the walls of dark walnut paneling, which were decorated at the seams with silver leaves and plants hanging low. (just how their carpenters pulled it off was beyond him). The room itself was lit by the glow of blue aether crystals. At the center of it lay a pool of roughly three yalms in width and length, and just about less than a yalm in depth. The pool was lit at the bottom by yet more of the same crystal behind glass panels, and it was filled to the brim with warm water of-course. He concluded that it would serve his purpose just fine, so he proceeded to lay down his robe with the towels folded on top, and carefully descended into the pool.

The waters were warm enough to sting and prickle at the frostbite, making him hesitate a little at first, but that sensation soon gave way to a pleasant tingle and finally bliss as he fully submerged, minus the head. Arctos wondered why he hadn't taken advantage of the place anytime sooner, he would from henceforth swear his soul by the bathpool for the rest of his life. Once settled in, he would lean back on the smooth stone and occasionally rub his arms and legs to stimulate the aching muscle. In about ten minutes, he let his heavy eyelids rest themselves as relaxation took over. This was the time to sort his mind out. In this moment, all the politicking, the near-constant strife, the torments of his comrades and the cries of the realm, all would be irrelevant next to the all-encompassing Now.


End file.
